


A Close Shave

by Nasturtian



Series: Space husbands [2]
Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Humor, M/M, Missing Scene, seduced by shaving, straight razor, the boys clearly have issues but are just as clearly made for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasturtian/pseuds/Nasturtian
Summary: Amos finds a cutthroat razor in Prax’s bathroom drawer and asks for a demonstration.





	A Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/gifts).



> This is a scene that was mentioned in passing by Naomi in the epilogue of “The Slow Zone,” but I couldn’t fit it into the actual story...so here it is, as a Christmas/New Year’s present for the lovely @callay.

Except for the sound of the coffeemaker gurgling in the kitchen, the Meng’s apartment was quiet. Djuna was at work; the girls were at the rehearsal for their graduation that afternoon; the _Roci_ crew members were enjoying their time stationside in various ways. So Amos and Prax had the place to themselves. 

Prax had taken time off so that he and Amos could just _be._ Amos’s internal clock hadn’t aligned with Ganymede yet, so he’d slept in till nearly eleven. Prax must have been tired because he slept in right along with him. When Amos finally woke up and went to do the needful in the head, Prax wasn’t far behind. It made the bathroom a little crowded, but neither of them objected to a bit of extra contact. 

Amos was currently amusing himself by going through the vanity drawers while Prax stood in front of the sink and tackled his pillow-crazed hair. 

“Oooh,” said Amos, pulling an old-fashioned straight razor from the back of the bottom drawer. He opened it and brushed his thumb across the blade. “Nice toy, Doc! You’ve been holding out on me! I didn’t know you had one of these.” 

“I didn’t - not until recently. It was my dad’s.” Prax worked a dab of product into his hair, filling the small room with the smell of cedar, then started in with the comb. He met Amos’s eyes in the mirror. “He gave it to me when we got together last year. Said his hands were getting too unsteady to use it.”

Amos held the razor at arm’s length and tilted it back and forth, admiring its shine. “You mean he actually shaved with this thing?”

Prax put the comb down and turned around, leaning back against the sink. “It’s one of his idiosyncrasies. He swears it’s the best shave known to mankind.”

Amos swung the blade shut with a satisfying _snick_. “Do you ever use it?”

“When I’ve got time. It’s a bit of a production, and I haven’t practiced a lot lately, so I have to take it slow.”

Amos turned the thing over in his fingers, feeling its heft and smoothness - carbon steel with a handle made of some kind of dark wood, heavier than it looked. “It’s the prettiest one I’ve seen yet.”

“You’ve seen others?”

“Yeah. Some folks favored ‘em in Baltimore.”

“Not for shaving, I’m guessing.”

“You are correct.” He held the razor out. “So - you gonna show me how it’s done?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? We’ve got nothing going on till we meet everyone at the auditorium. C’mon. Educate me.”

“All right, then,” said Prax, and took the razor.

 _Education is right,_ thought Amos, some time later. Stropping, hot towels, synthetic badger-hair brushes, soap mixed up into foam in an old mug - all part of a complex ritual that he’d been vaguely aware of, thanks to book and movie references, but had never seen performed by one person, and in order. It was antiquated. It was time-consuming. It was potentially lethal. And - he decided while watching Prax carve careful swathes in the white, billowy foam coating his left cheek - it was fucking _hot_.

When Prax finished (including rinsing, drying, and the application of aftershave), he presented himself to Amos for judgement. “What do you think?”

Amos cupped Prax’s face in his hands. “Holy shit.” He considered himself an expert on touching Prax. Not necessarily in sex-related ways, though God knew that came into it often enough. It was more like he was storing Prax up, learning the texture of his hair and skin and muscle and bone to get him through all their times apart. He knew what Prax’s face felt like after a shave, and what it felt like when he’d let it go for a few days, and what it felt like that one time he’d flirted briefly with growing a beard. But this level of smoothness was new. He drew his fingers up and across and down Prax’s face, marveling.

Prax submitted to this manhandling good-temperedly, rolling his eyes. “Well? Worth the hassle?”

“Fuck, yes.” Amos lowered his hands. “That’s incredible. Your dad taught you?”

“Yeah. He had this idea that it was something I needed to know in order to be a functioning adult.”

“Can you do it to other people too?”

“Oh yes. Are you hinting at something? It might be interesting to see what’s under that beard...”

Amos rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that ain’t happening. But my neck could use a cleanup. It’s getting kinda scratchy.”

“Really? You’d let me do that?”

“Yep,” said Amos, and left it there. He wasn’t ready to admit - not quite yet - that the idea of Prax holding a razor to his throat made his fun parts tingle.

Which is how he ended up sitting on the closed lid of the john with a hot, damp towel wrapped around his neck while Prax whipped up another mugful of soap. 

“You’re sure about this, Amos?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

“You won’t break my arm or something if I nick you by accident?”

Amos grinned. “Swear to God.”

Prax accepted his word for it and lapsed into silent concentration, the tip of his tongue sticking out a little as he removed the towel and applied the lather. “Tip your head back,” he ordered, and Amos lifted his chin toward the ceiling obediently, acutely aware of both his own vulnerability and the charge he was getting out of it. _That’s interesting._

The lather was cool, the razor cooler as it glided over the taut skin of his neck. Prax’s hands guiding the blade were light and sure. _One slip,_ Amos thought. _A change of angle, a bit more pressure..._ He could almost feel the bite and sting of it, and the warm flood that would follow. 

_And speaking of warm floods..._ He suppressed a sigh and fixed his eyes resolutely on the ceiing, hoping that Prax wouldn’t notice the raging boner that he had acquired during the past ten seconds. The concept of getting his throat cut might be kind of exciting, but he didn’t actually have a death wish. He wondered if Prax had noticed the very obvious situation in Southern Amosville. Would he say something? Would he simply carry on shaving him? Would he get hard? Would he carry on shaving him while getting hard? 

These edifying speculations where cut off when the door to the apartment opened, admitting a group of loudly talking people - Naomi, Alex, and Bobbie, by the sound if it. 

“...just put it on the counter, we’ll ask Prax what to do with it,” said Bobbie.

“If they’re awake yet, the lazy bums,” said Alex.

“They must be - the coffee’s brewed,” said Naomi. “Hey, Amos, Prax, are you up?” Her voice got louder as she came down the hall.

“Fuck,” said Amos. “She’s coming this way - you wanna shut the door?”

“I can’t reach it without turning around, and I can’t do that,” said Prax.

“Why not?”

“Because I, too, have a massive erection, and very thin pajamas.” 

Which was why, when Naomi appeared in the bathroom door a moment later, Amos had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Prax, are you - oh God! Sorry!” Naomi backed away, genuine panic on her face.

“What can I help you with, Naomi?” said Prax, looking over his shoulder at her with perfect aplomb. 

“It can wait. I didn’t know you were - busy.”

“Our fault. We should have closed the door. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she said fervently, and pressed the panel that sent the door sliding across. Prax turned back to Amos, grimacing.

“Poor Naomi. Hope she’s not too traumatized.”

“She’d better get used to it, with you moving onboard the _Roci_ so soon.” Amos waited patiently while Prax navigated the right-hand hinge of his jaw with short, careful strokes. 

“There,” said Prax, standing back. “Looking good, Mr. Burton.” He put the razor down and wiped Amos’s neck clean with the damp towel. “Not a single nick.”

“Well done,” said Amos, feeling his neck. “You missed your calling. I bet you could make a fortune doing this. Now - to change the subject a bit - I’m no med tech, but I think you should get that strange protrusion in your pants looked at.”

“I’m no med tech either - not for another six weeks - but I believe you are in a similar predicament yourself. What do you recommend we do about it?”

Amos considered making a dick joke out of Prax’s use of “predicament,” but decided it would waste valuable time. He slid off the toilet, onto his knees, and grabbed Prax’s ass. _Cutest little ass I ever saw. Like two halves of a grapefruit._ “I think you should make fucking sure that door is locked.”


End file.
